The 60th Hunger Games
by Bceltsfan344
Summary: My account of one of the Hunger Games years before we meet Katniss and Peeta. Rated M for violence, gore, and eventually sex. Please review and offer feedback!


Chapter One: The Arena

My heart beats wildly as my face finally emerges out of the darkness of the cramped tube and out into the dazzling sunlight of the arena. _Thump, thump, thump_. I don't know if this is fear, dread, discomfort, or something nobody else can understand outside of the 23 boys and girls I now see surrounding me. The feeling in my chest is one I've never quite experienced before, even during those long nights sneaking through district eight, avoiding the peacekeepers, breaking into factories, dormitories and supply buildings, anything that might hold the resources to my family's survival. The sun is so bright, so vivid, I can barely see a few feet in front of me and I squint to protect my eyes. Am I on camera right now? Are my sisters studying my face, seeing the fear in my heart slowly seep out of my core and consume my limbs, my knees, my fingers, my green eyes that we all share?

The last few days have been a whirlwind – I know that sounds cliché, but I feel like just hours ago I said goodbye to my parents, my sisters, and boarded the train to the capital in a deep daze. And now I could be dead in minutes. Maybe it feels so quick because I just said another mental goodbye to my family, as I climbed into the tube and started to rise above ground. I'm quickly jolted out of my daydreams when I hear the countdown begin. "60…. 59…. 58…" I collect my senses, remembering what Bullet, my mentor, said right before the peacekeepers pushed me into the helicopter to the arena. "First, look at the tributes immediately adjacent to you. If you don't get to the cornucopia quick, they're the ones who can hurt you the most." I glance side to side, keeping my feet firmly planted to the platform. We all know what happens if you step off. _Boom._ Cloud, an intimidating boy from district two, stands to my left, his eyes darting wildly around the arena, scouting out the supplies and deciding his plan of attack. _Great_. The most bloodthirsty tribute, if his interview with Ceaser is any indication of who he is, is right beside me.

If the boy to my left (although it hardly seems accurate to call him a boy – he has a man's body, hardened from years of training for this very moment) fills me with a very unique sort of fear, the girl to my right somewhat alleviates that. Our eyes meet, and I think we both smile at each other. It's Cristal, and I know her. She came to the Capitol with me from District Eight. We never spoke back home, nor did we interact much in the days since the reaping. But one look at her and I know, she's no danger to me. Not yet, at least. Her long, straight black hair is tied back in a ponytail, and her brown eyes reassure me. The careers barely considered us for the pack they always seem to form before the gong sounds, but alliances can be unspoken too – I know, at least, that we won't be targeting each other first.

Bullet's next instructions flash through my head: "Don't you dare venture too far into the cornucopia – get some supplies from the outskirts, and get the hell outta there. It's not worth it in the center. It never is." "49…. 48…. 47…." I immediately begin to scan my environment. The twenty-four of us stand in the middle of a city square. I've never witnessed an arena like this. It's urban. Usually the arenas are filled with big fields, meadows, forests, caves, trees – nature. But this arena… it's a miniature city. I whip my head around. Outside the square I can see winding streets, buildings of various sizes, rowhouses not unlike the cramped dwellings we live in back home. And then it hits me. I'm completely at home here. I hail from the most urban district in Panem, and I've spent my entire teenage life moving through the shadows of Eight after dark, silently breaking into anything I thought I can get in and out of.

The arena is almost tailor made for my skill.

The gamesmakers couldn't have possibly known that. My pre-games score of 7 suggest that I'm a dark-horse candidate to be the last one standing, but I'm at a deep disadvantage compared to the careers, and anyone with weapons experience. The weapons in Eight are always securely in the hands of the peacekeepers. I'm barely competent with a knife, even after intensely training the last few days. But this, I can survive here. Maybe I can wait them out. Let them clean each other up. Hide until I have no other choice.

"39…. 38…. 37…."

Bullet had mentioned rumors about the arena being different this year. Something about food. That there might not be as much this year as in years past. The victors I remember watching, or those I learned about in school, all had something in common. They ate well in the arena. Sometimes they hunted. Sometimes they foraged more successfully than anyone else, and quite often a career tribute from One or Two just horded the supplies in the cornucopia, secure for the duration of the games. No matter what, food and water are the most precious commodities available in the games, year after year.

I see what the Capitol is doing. This is no Quell, but every Hunger Games is meant to send a subtle message to the districts. The urban arena is meant to remind us of the dark days, when street fighting and house-to-house combat was commonplace in the districts. There won't be much in the way of natural food sources here, so I have two priorities now: find food, and find some kind of a weapon. The city offers plenty of hiding places, but also plenty of spots to get cornered. I need to be able to defend myself.

"29…28…. 27…." Under thirty seconds now. I scan the city square that serves for our cornucopia. Instead of a horn, like in most years I can remember, it's a fountain, with blasts of water spewing into the bright sky. Around the fountain, I can see shiny weapons, glimmering in the sunlight, just begging for someone brave enough to reach them. The fountain stands about 50 yards in front of us, with the tributes arranged around it in a circle, equidistant from the center. They couldn't be sending a clearer message. If you want water, you'll have to fight for it.

It's certainly tempting. But about 10 yards in front of me, I see what looks like a lunch box, what the garment workers take to the factory every day back home. It has to be food. Maybe even water, if I'm lucky. It's a priority. About 5 yards ahead of that lies a knife. It's about a foot long, shiny, and probably the best I can get my hands on. I'll never make it in and out of the center, and besides, Bullet specifically warned against that.

"19…. 18…. 17…." _Coming down to it now._ I steel myself and crouch, ready to burst off my platform at the sound of the gong. I look over at Cloud. He's still eyeing all the treats surrounding the fountain. Oh, to be that confident in my training to even consider it. He'll want to be well equipped, so I know he'll make a dash right to the center. And he'll probably survive it too. I silently curse my district, and I know that nothing I've ever done in my life has prepared me for this moment, the one Cloud is seemingly relishing.

"9… 8…. 7…." Calmly, I try to remind myself of all I have going for me. _I'm 17._ I'm not the oldest tribute, but I'm stronger and faster than the poor 12 year olds that got reaped into games, with no one to take their place. _I'm at home._ Well, not really at home, but the arena I find myself in bears a striking resemblance to the city I spent years slinking around in the shadows of. The gamesmakers didn't know it, but they've given me an advantage none of the other districts could possibly have. _Bullet will take care of me._ His advice so far has been solid, sincere, and he's in control of himself. That's a far cry from some of the other mentors, like the drunkard from twelve or the addicts from six.

I take the last few seconds to collect myself and tighten the bandana on my head, the one that just barely cleared the review board. The black bandana I used in Eight to hide my bright blonde hair, to blend in with the shadows at night. It's the only thing I have that makes me feel safe.

I kiss the knuckle on my right hand and pound my closed fist over my heart, twice. Maybe it makes the careers from one or two laugh. Maybe it makes the 12 year olds around me shiver in fear. But it's not meant to do anything like that. It's my way of touching my family back in Eight one last time, my way of drawing strength from them, now so far away. I'm crouched like a cat, ready to pounce of my platform.

And then, the gong sounds. _Let the games begin._

_A sincere thank you for reading chapter one! Please feel free to review or send feedback, and I hope to continue to working on this story. _


End file.
